


Mistletease

by Anonymous



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Christmas Fluff, First Kiss, M/M, Mistletoe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:44:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21945568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Tyler is dragged off by someone laughing, a hand firm around his wrist as he is tugged towards the mistletoe.“What,” he protests. “No.”Klingberg smirks.(or: Tyler seizes the mistletoe, kisses a lot of people, and hopes to make out with Jamie)
Relationships: Jamie Benn/Tyler Seguin
Comments: 16
Kudos: 198
Collections: Anonymous





	Mistletease

**Author's Note:**

> Aaah. Please don't read if you are or know any of the people in this story! And um, sorry for any blatant disregard of canonical partners. The story assumes that everyone involved here _and_ their partners are 100% okay with it and that both Jamie and Tyler are single. 
> 
> Having said that, I'm not at all very involved with the fandom but I wanted to write this and also wish everybody who reads it a happy Christmas (yes, even if you're reading this in the middle of July, I don't care--go, put on a Christmas playlist). And for everybody who is alone and/or sad during the holiday season, I wanna let you know that you deserve love too, even if the only person around to give that to you right now is your own <3

The party is going strong by the time Tyler arrives.

People are drinking eggnog, wine, beer. The vibe alone brings on the first buzz, the riot of a private party where everyone present is inherently _trusted_.

He breathes in the perfumes and colognes mingling, the drinks and the treats that are ready for them on a table. Someone put up a large bunch of mistletoe, the red and white berries immediately recognisable—and his eyes stick to it for a moment before drifting across the room, seeking out Jamie. He’s talking to someone, head lowered to listen to what she’s saying, his eyes focused on her as he smiles and Tyler—

Tyler is dragged off by someone laughing, a hand firm around his wrist as he is tugged towards the mistletoe.

“What,” he protests. “_No_.”

Klingberg smirks. A blonde girl Tyler assumes is his date watches as Klinger pulls him in and smacks their lips together. The kiss is brief, barely that at all, and Tyler realises—Klinger doesn’t know. No one here does, and it’s part good, part—maybe _not_ so good.

He keeps up the farce, smirks and wipes his lips, “What the fuck, man.”

“You’re single,” Klinger says, like that explains anything. “No one should be alone on Christmas. ‘specially not _you_.”

Tyler doesn’t point out that it’s January and that he doesn’t mind. Instead he rolls his eyes. “Glad to hear that at least _someone_ has faith in me,” he says.

Klinger shrugs. “It was also a dare.” The girl smirks again, turning into Klinger to whisper something in fucking Swedish. Fucking figures.

When he looks up, Jamie is staring at him, a frown between his brows like he’s puzzled over what happened. Tyler shrugs at him but—he likes the way Jamie looks at him, like he wants to stalk over and stake his claim.

Six years and counting—that shit isn’t gonna happen, but Tyler can still fantasize.

* * *

The thing is, Tyler has kissed boys before.

Hell, he was kissing boys before he figured out what it meant to him. Playing with teammates in Midget, messing around when girls were deemed out of reach—until they weren’t anymore, and Tyler wanted to _keep_ kissing boys even if girls were fine too.

It took another three years before he figured out what it all meant, when Brownie finally pulled him aside at a party and named this _thing_, because Tyler didn’t realise.

No one else did either—no one else does, now, although some guys on the Bruins must have known, must have seen him.

* * *

Now, being closeted is both a blessing and a curse.

Dobby raises his eyebrow at him, unimpressed, and Tyler smirks as he drags him closer. “Come on, you too,” he says before pressing a kiss to his cheek.

Roope takes it in good jest, going for Tyler’s mouth after he lingers under the mistletoe and then returns a little while later with a beer. By then the joke has caught on and Tyler is smirking, careful not to look at Jamie _too_ often.

He’s not sure if he wants Jamie to line up, too, or if he needs him to stay back—he’s not sure whether he can deal with knowing what Jamie’s lips feel like against his own. On the flip side, he’s also not sure if he can deal with _not _knowing.

But Jamie keeps shooting glances in his direction, his cheeks pinking up visibly. Hypothetically, that could be the alcohol, but Tyler knows Jamie can drink like a motherfucking sailor and he’s gone to get a new drink maybe twice since Tyler got here.

Dickinson is the first to kiss him properly, mostly at the urging of his wife—Tyler thinks that that might be a theme, here. He knows he looks hot; he knows plenty of women get off to gay porn the way straight men gravitate towards lesbian porn, so maybe this is a thing. Safe, in any case.

He’s a good kisser, trailing fingers down Tyler’s jaw as he slips him some tongue, his other hand a light touch on Tyler’s kiss. It doesn’t last long, of course, under a minute for sure, but—

But Jamie is staring, and that is all Tyler really cares about.

And he’s spent a few years pretending that there was nothing, and the next few that nothing would happen, but tonight, Tyler isn’t sure of anything anymore.

Just for good measure, he kisses Dickinson’s girl as well.

-

By the time the party rounds up, Tyler is well on his way to tipsy. He doesn’t get shitfaced anymore—even with his metabolism, at almost 28, the hangovers just aren’t worth it anymore and neither is the unique embarrassment that comes with being blackout drunk. If he’s going to make a fool of himself, he wants to at least be cognizant of his choices.

He’s pretty sure that he’s kissed half the team in some capacity or another, some of the partners, and he is _certain_ that bets have been going around on how many people he could get to kiss him tonight.

At some point, he tore some branches of mistletoe from the neatly tied bunch just so he could walk around, made it ridiculous just to hide his own eagerness—because there’s really just one goal here.

They’ve been gravitating around each other all evening, although he thinks Jamie might be too scared to come close, afraid that Tyler’s gonna lay one on him without warning. He wouldn’t, even made sure that he didn’t have the mistletoe on him when he did go up to talk to him, but he saw Jamie slip outside five minutes ago, presumably for some fresh air.

Tyler tucks the mistletoe into his shirt pocket and grabs a couple more beers before heading outside.

Jamie looks great like this, in the light of a waxing moon. His head bobs out of beat to the music inside and Tyler suppresses a snort—instead he walks up to him and soundlessly hands him the bottle.

“I can leave, if you want,” he mumbles. He knows he’s loud—he knows he’s too much for some people. It’s never been an issue with Jamie before, not in the least because Jamie’s never been shy to impose his boundaries on Tyler, but maybe tonight.

“No, it’s fine,” Jamie mumbles. He turns to look at Tyler, eyes dropping down to the mistletoe. “Did you have fun tonight?”

He nods. That’s the truth, too; he’s laughed and talked and gotten to kiss a bunch of attractive (and some less attractive) people. “Did you?”

“Yep,” Jamie says before taking a long pull from his beer.

Tyler allows himself to watch, Jamie’s adams apple bobbing as he swallows, and then again, his lips pressed to the cool glass, fingers curled around the bottleneck. His mouth goes dry and he’s glad he’s got his own drink, busies himself with that while Jamie takes his turn watching.

The silence between them isn’t awkward—Tyler doesn’t feel the need to fill it up like he usually does, no urge to entertain Jamie when he knows just _this_ is okay too.

“Did you kiss everyone in there?” Jamie eventually asks.

He shrugs. “Maybe. Not entirely sure.”

Jamie nods, thinks for a while.

“Why?”

“Looked like a competition.” Jamie is still staring in through the large glass doors—they can see inside, but the people there won’t be able to see them beyond their outlines.

Tyler laughs. “I mean, it was more of a joke than anything.” Jamie’s eyes turn back to him, big and brown and focused and the laughter fades from his throat because he doesn’t want Jamie to think that _he_ is going to be part of the joke, regardless of the mistletoe he’s got with him.

He knows what he wants. Thing is—he doesn’t know what _Jamie_ wants.

Tyler licks his lips, watches Jamie’s gaze drop down and stay there, the hitch of his shoulders as Tyler repeats the action. He steps a little closer, then again, until he’s up in Jamie’s space. They’re a foot apart and it would be _so easy_, but Tyler knows that he can’t.

“Am I gonna be another one of your tally marks tonight?” Jamie plucks the branch of mistletoe from Tyler’s pocket even as he asks, twirling it around between his fingers.

“No.” Tyler shrugs. “The guys have their bets paid out anyway.”

“Yeah, I saw.”

“Rads won.”

“No surprise there.”

“And I didn’t care about kissing any of the people earlier.” It’s an admission, as much as anything—something he can still take back, should he need to, but he doesn’t _think_ he does.

Jamie drops the mistletoe to the floor—so much for the joke. Maybe, a couple of years ago, Tyler would have approached things that way. But even then, he was scared of fucking this up, and Jamie never seemed willing the way he does tonight. Jamie didn’t seem this _jealous_, the fire burning in his eyes all night as Tyler made his way around the party.

“Do you care about kissing me?” Jamie asks at lasts. He’s begun to close the gap, Tyler can feel his breath ghost over his skin, smells the bitterness of beer.

He could say _no_, and he’s feeling a little hysterical, honestly, but he knows this is a leap he’s got to take—just the nth of the many risks he’s taken in his life, but not the most insignificant one.

“Didn’t your mom tell you to save the best for last?”

Jamie smirks, and Tyler takes a moment to internally fist pump for breaking through the tension. “Did you just tell me I’m dessert?”

“Well, you _are_ a very sweet boy once you get off the ice,” Tyler drawls, grinning back before he can’t cut back the giggles. Jamie chuffs him around the shoulder, shaking his head but laughing along.

“Yeah, alright,” he finally says.

And then Jamie’s fingers are on his neck and Tyler’s stomach quivers, then swoops when their lips press together. Jamie’s mouth is plush and his tongue is gentle as he coaxes open Tyler’s lips—not that he needs much encouragement—and then Tyler stops thinking.

He kisses until the cool taste of beer disappears from Jamie’s mouth, bites down on his lip before soothing over it with his tongue, kisses him hard and fast and then slow and gentle, hands around Jamie’s neck to keep him close and he likes being able to curl his hands into Jamie’s dark mop of hair.

When they finally break apart, Tyler has no idea how much time has passed. All he knows is that it feels like he’s resurfacing, thought bubbling back onto his mind as he presses their foreheads together.

“Fuck.” Thought does not appear eloquence, apparently.

Jamie’s hand squeezes his hip, his lips brushing Tyler’s cheek. “Maybe not right here.”

Tyler snorts, shakes his head, and relaxes into Jamie’s arms a little longer. He’s not sure if anybody saw them—and he doesn’t care much, at this point. People were probably expecting this, at least to an extent, and if Jamie wants, they can pass this off as part of Tyler’s adventures with the mistletoe.

“Come on,” he says. “Let’s go back inside.”

Jamie nods and lets Tyler tug him across the patio, fingers entwined until they reach the door, and he doesn’t stop grinning the rest of the night.


End file.
